Tomcat

Chapter Six-1

Chapter Six

Tommy did two hours at the gym before driving to the ocean. Then her running and swimming, pushing an extra third lap out of her tired limbs, before heading back to the motel. She found Mr. Randal behind his counter, scowling at his paperwork. He looked up as Tommy came through and his expression lightened, the furrows smoothing across his forehead.

“Good morning, Tommy,” he said. “Is everything alright with the room? Everything working?”

Tommy smiled to herself. He was a “business first” kinda guy.

“Sure, Mr. Randal. It’s a lovely room. Everything’s fine.” Tommy moved to lean against the counter and looked into his pleasant features. “And I’m fine too.”

He eyed her quizzically, trying to make sense of the little jab.

“And how are you doing, Mr. Randal?” Tommy pressed on. She couldn't help herself; the man interested her. “You always seem to be struggling with paperwork.”

“Yeah, it has a way of mounting up.” He scanned the desktop. “Bills. Receipts. County ordinances. Health Department. Sales tax. Insurance. It goes on and on. Thankfully the place is paid for. We own it outright. If we didn’t, I don’t think I could keep my head above water.” He sounded exhausted.

“Well you should try to lighten up a little,” Tommy chided him. “Try to get outside more; the sun. Bills can wait. They’re not going anywhere, are they? Get out into the garden and enjoy some sea air. You’ll feel better for it.”

His eyes dropped to the reddish brown glow of Tommy's upper arms and shoulders; the early stages of tan. But he halted, realizing that Tommy had caught his eyes as they flickered toward her chest. There was that funny, queer feeling again: A tingling in Tommy's lower abdomen and she felt slightly light headed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes returning to the safety of the desktop.

“For what?” Tommy asked, trying to sound sincere. She reached out and ran her nails lightly down the back of his hand but hesitated when her finger caught the edge of his wedding band. Tommy fingered the warm metal. “And Mrs. Randal?”

The question withered on Tommy's lips as she saw the fresh pain sweep his face. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Mr. Randal.” Her mind whirled as she tried to think of something to say. Damn, what would Jilly say? She was so much better at this kind of thing.

Jilly would tackle it straight on, Tommy glumly realized.

“What happened?” Tommy threw the question out, not knowing if she really wanted to hear the answer.

“It was a freak accident,” he faltered. Then after a long pause: “You hear that phrase, ‘freak accident’ but it doesn’t convey the complete waste; the utter useless waste of a life. Irene was such a fine woman.” He paused again, regaining control.

“What happened, Mr. Randal,” Tommy repeated, nudging him to unburden himself.

“It was a couple of years back. I found her in the unit just over the office, here. I had gone out to run a few errands and she had told me she had her vacuuming to do. I came back an hour later and found her on the floor. It was the old vacuum cleaner. They told me there was a loose wire, an electrical short. Could have been like that for months, but the rubber soles of her shoes, the heavy carpet... it all protected her. But then she had reached out to adjust the air conditioner. It was grounded. They told me the burst of electricity ran from one arm to the other, through her chest, stilling her heart. They told me she felt nothing. But I saw her, you see... I saw her... eyes cold and still. She had a look on her face. The look she got whenever we reminisced about the good times we had. She had lain on the floor, knowing her life was quietly slipping away, and she had the presence of mind to think back.”

Tommy stood paralyzed. She knew her mouth was gaping and she found she had clamped a hand over her lips.

“I’m sor... sorry,” she stumbled out the words, feeling inadequate. “Mr. Randal, I don’t know what to say. It must have been horrible.” He stood silently, gathering in his emotions, fiddling with some inane piece of paper. Tommy wanted to go to him, to put her arms around his neck, but the counter barred her way. She reached for his hand again, held it tight for a moment, before he pulled away.

There was nothing to say. Nothing to be done. Tommy thought maybe he would prefer his privacy but knew, in all honesty, she was looking for an excuse, any excuse, to escape the heaviness of the room.

“Please, Mr. Randal. Please go easy on yourself,” and Tommy reached over again, twisted the wedding band. She was at a loss and turned away to mount the stairs. On the third step up, Tommy looked back. He was blankly staring at his hands.

“Mr. Randal,” she called out to him. He slowly swung his shoulders, face turned upward. “I went shopping this morning,” Tommy lied, “bought a small roast, but still too much food for one person. I’ll cook us a nice dinner.”

He tried to mouth something, the words catching as he shook his head... “No.”

“Mr. Randal,” Tommy lay an edge into her voice. “I wasn’t asking. I expect you at six.” Then she turned away, longing for the solitude of her shower stall.

Tommy heard the soft rap at her door, precisely at six. She opened it to a more youthful man. Mr. Randal was smartly dressed in khaki trousers, a golf shirt and deck shoes. Tanned, bare ankles, Tommy noticed. Very fashionable.

She was surprised when he handed her a bottle of the wine she liked. “Be careful how much you drink, young lady,” his chuckle relaxed her, “I’m in charge of garbage collection around here.” The vision of him going through her garbage, counting bottles, had a smile lurching across her face.

He had half a glass, to be sociable, and made himself comfortable in the one armchair that the tiny apartment could contain. And, as Tommy busied herself with the dinner, he chatted contentedly about the navy and the time he had spent overseas.

The roast looked perfect when Tommy pulled it from the oven and the two potatoes were a crispy brown. As the meat rested, Tommy drained vegetables and made gravy. He was sniffing the air longingly and lamenting about the last time he had had a home-cooked meal while Tommy carved thick slices for his plate.

She talked him into another glass of wine and got him seated at the table. When Tommy leaned in to place his plate down, she lightly brushed her thigh against his arm. She wasn't quite sure if she had done it purposefully, or not. There was a slight pause in his conversation but he didn’t pull away.

Sitting down across from him, Tommy saw him eye her plate. “Normal person would starve on that,” he snorted. She had allowed herself a thin slice of beef, a few bits of broccoli and a teaspoon of gravy. The rest of her plate was loaded with a dry leafy salad.

“Just you never mind,” Tommy retorted. “I’ll be working my butt off at the gym for two hours tomorrow; I don’t want to have to make it three!”

He tucked into his meal with a hearty, young man’s, appetite. She hated the thought of him in his empty apartment, eating out of cans, and she could tell by the fit of his clothes that he had lost weight recently. “Eat your potatoes,” Tommy poked a fork in his direction. “I bought 'em especially for you.”

Eventually Tommy steered the conversation around to Mrs. Randal: “She had started her career as an assistant to a navy chaplain,” he explained. “She liked working with people and went to school to become a nurse. Irene was career navy and I married her when we were both stationed in Key West.”

“Key West must have been an interesting place to live,” Tommy said.

“It was, in those days, before the tourists found us. It was a pleasant community, life was low-key. But we were adventurous and after a couple of years, transferred for overseas duty. We traveled Europe together before returning to Washington. She retired, became a housewife, raised two boys and I assumed duties in the Navy's Public Affairs Department.

“After I retired, we kicked around for a couple of years, found we were bored and bought the Sand Dollar. Irene was good with people and I could work with my hands; fix things. Anyway we got into the rhythm of it and were both a bit surprised when we found we were enjoying ourselves. Then the accident two years ago. Changed everything.”

Tommy sensed Mr. Randal had been in a tailspin ever since; the concentric circles growing tighter with each passing day.

He finished his meal and, after coffee, offered to do the dishes. Tommy told him they could wait ‘till morning. It was eight-thirty, her bedtime, when he hinted he should head back downstairs. The lights had to be looked after. He turned at the door to thank her and she stood on toes to kiss his cheek. It made her feel little. He gave Tommy a thin smile, turned, and she closed the door after him.

Tommy noticed a few new faces at the gym the next morning and Steve welcomed her with a s**t-eating grin. Word must be getting around, she thought as she pulled on the blue bikini. Still, Tommy could suffer the searching eyes of the men as long as they didn’t start hitting on her. She had a good run on the beach after, and the saltwater was refreshing.

At the motel, Tommy was surprised to find Mr. Randal’s spot behind the counter, empty. She thought about hitting his buzzer, just wanting to see his face, but hesitated; She’d feel, and look, a whole lot better after her shower. She limped up the stairs on tired knees and made her way down the hall to the end unit. There, on the floor in front of her door, was a huge arrangement of summer flowers, fresh picked from the garden. She scooped them up into her arms and, hooking the door open with a hip, she ran through the room to the window. Leaning out, Tommy saw him down below, working a shovel into the sandy soil.

Tommy called out, “Thank you, Mr. Randal!” And waved to him as his eyes lifted.

“You’re welcome,” he called back. “And thank you again for last night. Thought I’d take your advice... get a little sun.”

Tommy laughed and waved again. Then, burying her face among the blooms, she looked to find something to put them in. The large glass milk jug she found in a corner cupboard fit the bill. It wasn’t the most elegant vase, but she thought it looked just fine in the middle of her table, over-stuffed with color and greenery. Tommy fussed over it before stripping off her clothes and stepping under the shower spray.

Tommy soaped her aching limbs and shampooed her hair. She dried off with her bum on the window sill, a late morning breeze against her skin. She slid clean underpants up her legs and did up an over-sized, man's shirt. The white cotton was soft and cool. Then, throwing her hair brush into a straw bag, Tommy skipped down the stairs to the patio on rejuvenated limbs.

He was still there, eyeing the pool as if it were a living thing. Tommy didn’t interrupt his internal struggles but moved, instead, into a chair with her back to the sun and pulled out the brush and started working though the tangles.

It was almost dry when she heard him come up behind and Tommy swiveled in the chair to smile. The movement caused her shirt to tighten across her chest, the material dragging across her n*****s. Tommy felt them twist and harden, stimulating an ache between her legs.

His eyes fell from Tommy's face to her chest, where she knew he could see the protruding n*****s through the thin cotton. His eyes lowered and he seemed to stagger when he realized she wasn't wearing shorts. Tommy was entirely decent, really, but he was a good man; a man of principal, and he couldn’t have been more embarrassed then if she had turned to him, completely naked.

Color was flooding his cheeks as he twisted away, his silly pool strainer still in his hand. “Forgive me. Please,” he mumbled in stunned horror and he started to bolt.